


The Visit

by StormSketch



Series: Marvel drabbles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormSketch/pseuds/StormSketch
Summary: There are moments where Peter can’t help but to swear he’s still there. A flicker of a shadow in the corner of his eye, a heavy weight in the wind from time to time— almost as if he’s being visited.He figures he’s taking Tony Stark’s death much harder than he thought.





	The Visit

**Author's Note:**

> So after coming home absolutely crushes from seeing endgame opening night, I couldn’t. stop. thinking about Peter dealing with Tony’s death. so I wrote this to get my emotions out. Im still pretty ok with it month later, so I thought id post it!

Sometimes, Peter thinks he can see him in the very corner of his eye. The flicker of an oddly shaped shadow, a sharp, quick movement, something achingly familiar dancing along the edge of his vision. But everytime, without fail, it vanishes the second Peter turns to get a better look. As if he’d been seeing things. 

Peter reckons maybe he _is_ just seeing things, but he can feel it too; a sort of... presence that follows him around from time to time. He’d say he’s being haunted, but the word seems too dark, too ominous. It feels more as if he’s being watched over, checked up on.

Peter rationalizes that it’s tied to his grief; just his brain acting out as he struggles to process. It seems like the only reasonable explanation, but it..it had never been this way with his parents, or Ben.

Only with Mr. Stark.

It’d been a few weeks since it’s happened—Peter’s had time to process, but it still hurts. A lot. He can’t quite explain the ache in his chest without his throat closing up, and he hasn't been able to sleep since it happened, either. 

Jolting up in the middle of the night from nightmares had become a painfully common occurrence, and Peter found laying in the darkness of his room often brings very, very unwanted thoughts. Tonight was no different.

Peter stares up at the ceiling of his room, exhaustion burning his eyes. He carefully avoids glancing at his alarm clock, not interested in knowing how much more sleep he’s lost already. He’s been up for...maybe an hour now, staring blankly at the ceiling while nightmare that had snapped him awake burned faintly in the back of his mind. The details are muddled and scrambled, but the heavy fear and despair that had accompanied it lingers, the feeling of it almost crushing.

Peter sobs.

He rolls onto his side, pressing a hand to his face as he curls into a ball. It does nothing to quiet his mind, but there’s nothing else he can do. The sleeping medication he’d been prescribed didn’t seem to be doing him any favors tonight, and despite aching all over from exhaustion right down to his bones, he just can’t... sleep.

 _Getting up for school tomorrow is going to be a nightmare,_ Peter thinks, deflating at the very thought of having to drag himself through another school day. Despair claws at his throat.

He lays there for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to center himself. 

...Then, suddenly, he feels a minute prickle in the back of his neck, a certain heaviness setting into the room.

The presence is back.

Peter can feel it, a quite awareness swimming in his head that something is _there_. It doesn’t...scare Peter, and he normally never thinks anything of it other than passing curiosity; but tonight, with no daytime activities to distract him, the presence fills him with a deep, crushing sorrow.

It weighs ever so heavily on him, and Peter thinks of running across dusty, charred battlefield to a battered man dressed in red and gold. He thinks of—well, He...

...He misses Mister Stark.

Peter misses him so, so much. 

He inhales sharply, his eyes watering.

He’d been gone for five years, and then Mr. Stark had gotten him back—and had... missed him a lot, Peter figured. There’s been such a deep desperation and relief in the way he’d hugged Peter. There’d been something softer there too—a warm affection that had been strong enough to throw Peter offgaurd. 

They didn’t even have any time to...catch up, or anything. Savor it. It had happened so fast and he—he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

It gnaws at his heart, the feeling of loss and grief running so strong and deep that it _hurts_. It’s unbearable how much it hurts.

He’s crying, he realizes. Peter’s breath hitches as tears pour down his face, the intensity of it wracking his entire body with silent sobs. He feels it drain the last of his energy, and he’s tired. He’s so, so tired. Every part of his body feels far too heavy, his exhaustion weighing him down.

 Petee drifts in the uncomfortable in between of lucidity and unconscious, feeling almost delirious as tears drip down his cheeks. His mind still races, but the thoughts are sluggish and jumbled, muddled by exhaustion as it seems to slowly overtake him.

Peter is ever so dimly aware of the presence still hovering over him. It’s faint, distant, and Peter can’t fully process it, but it’s still there. It feels more... there than ever, in fact, as if it’s closer, or more... solid. And then, As if to confirm the jumbled thought, a ghost feeling of a hand reaches out and brushes the top of his head.

Peter stiffens.

There’s something...there. It’s not just a intuitive, gut feeling anymore, there’s something physically there. It combs gently through his hair with a _familiar_ , calloused hand, the motion soft and calming. Peter sniffles. He half leans, half slumps into the touch, tears dripping from his face.

“Trouble sleeping?” A muttered voice asks somewhere above him.

Peter barely processes the question, but he’s quite sure he gives a nod of response. He doesn’t really consider where it comes from, but he does note he... likes this voice a lot. It’s nice.

Safe. 

“Picked a good time to come visit you, then. Mind moving over a bit?”

The words filter through Peter’s ears, and Peter is quite sure he does that as well, because suddenly there’s more space on the bed next to him. He feels the hand leave his hair, and then, before he can even mourn the loss of it, he feels the mattress dip as a heavy weight sinks down onto it, settling beside him.

Peter opens his eyes, blinking blearily. He tilts his head upwards his head to stare up at the presence. He can see it clearly now, and it’s almost as if he’s looking at a ghost. The man seems to glow faintly around the edges, and while Peter can...maybe make out some nice details; the soft blue glow of his chest, the jaw lined with a clearly cut goatee, the familiar worn but firm posture, everything feels blurry around the edges.

 _As_ _if_   _I’m_   _dreaming,_ Peter thinks. 

A name for the presence comes to Peter’s mind, but the letters fizzle out and die on his tongue when he tries to say it. He supposes he doesn’t have to say anything anyways. His mentor looks down at him, resting his hand in Peter’s hair to resume combing through it.

Peter feels his face scrunch up, and he’s distantly aware of the fresh tears pouring down his cheeks. He presses his face into his pillow with a sniffle, keeping Spider-Man’s keen hearing trained on the sound of Tony Stark’s quiet, steady breathing next to him.

 _I_ _miss_ _you_ , Peter wants to say, but he’s too tired to. He thinks that’s not enough anyways, he’d need to say something...stronger, maybe. _I_ _think about you all the time, I wish you were still here. I wish you weren’t gone. I love you._

“I think any of those work. All gets the point across,” Mr. Stark muses.

Peter blinks slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open. _Did I said that outloud?_

“Yes, you did,” His mentor ruffles his hair, his voice softer than Peter’s ever heard it. “And I love you too, kid. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay until you wake up.”

Peter takes a deep, shaky breath, allowing himself to relax under Mr. Stark’s touch. It’s soft, soothing, and Peter finds his restless exhaustion fading into a more comfortable sleepiness. Sheepishly, he thinks how he’d rarely listened to his mentor told him to do. He’ll listen this time, though. It’s the least he can do.

Peter closes his eyes, curling close to Tony. 

_It’s a very nice dream._

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep this open to interpretation! Is Tony a ghost? Hallucination? Part of Peter’s dream? Your choice! (I wrote it with a few nods towards what I was personally thinking—that Tony’s some sort of ghost checking up on people—but tried to keep vague enough for you to interpret it in your own way)
> 
> I don’t really write much, It’s not a skill/hobby I particularly work to sharpen or practice outside of the occasional drabble; so this might be a bit rough around the edges, but thank u for reading!


End file.
